


The World Keeps Turning, Unfortunately

by crying_colors



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Pirates, Davey's a mapmaker, London, Partially told through journal entries, once we get past the first chapter it's gonna get super angsty, the first chapter is super short sorry, this was a huge experimentation with writing style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crying_colors/pseuds/crying_colors
Summary: July 20th, 1668A heavy wooden thump sounded from behind him, then an uneven footstep. Again, the same sound persisted. Dave was sure that when he turned, he’d be greeted by the staggering figure of a ragged and battlescarred pirate, reeking of beer while swinging a cutlass and brandishing a peg leg as a reminder of past battles.Instead, when he turned, he was greeted by a small and cheery looking cabin boy that smelled like ink and wax and not beer, with a crutch wedged under arm and not a peg leg in sight.-Or, alternatively, the self-indulgent pirate au told partially in journal entries.





	The World Keeps Turning, Unfortunately

_July 18th, 1668_

 

_This was a bad idea._

 

 _Of course, not all bad ideas come off as bad ideas when you first hear them, but I still should have seen through the flaws of the offer. Anyone hiring a single crewman- even someone as crucial to a ship as a mapmaker/navigator- for_ that _cost surely didn’t expect the man to make it back ashore to collect his payment._

 

_I should have turned down the offer. I should have turned down the offer. I sho_

_-_

 

_July 19th, 1668_

 

_Pirates._

 

 _When I first saw the outline of another ship, I assumed it was just passing. Then, when I realised it was coming for us, I assumed it was the navy of an opposing country, and we were going to get attacked and would probably die._ _~~Now,~~_ _we technically got attacked and will still probably die_ ~~_, however_~~ _._

 

_Nobody died (???)._

 

_Unfortunately, due to death not claiming me yet, I’m trapped in a cell underneath a goddamn pirate ship. I have to hide my journal any time someone walks in out of fear of them taking it. There’s too many personal notes in here. Still, something is keeping me from sticking it to the lick of flame dancing on the candle in the corner and letting it burn; if I survive and escape, or even find something waterproof to shelve the book in and release it to the sea, other people will be able to learn what I experienced._

 

_That would be nice, seeing as not many people have honest records of life on a pirate ship._

 

_-_

 

_July 20th, 1668_

 

_They let me out of the cell._

 

_At first, I thought they’d skin me alive and string me from the masts as some sort of gruesome trophy. They didn’t, obviously, because I’m still writing this._

 

 _They-_ they _being the pirates- offered me a deal. Work for them, and in return I keep my life and get to be let off at the next port I choose to be let off at. I didn’t refuse, seeing as if I declined, I’d probably be skewered and stuck from the mast of the ship where I would serve out the rest of my days as bait and this was a much more favorable fate even if it meant working for the enemy._

 

_There really are colorful ways to go out on a ship, when you think of it._

 

* * *

 

Holding his hand up towards the sky, David Jacobs shielded his eyes from the glaring sun. Around a month ago, he’d boarded the ship for work. So far, it had been going nicely- only one major storm, and nobody had perished yet.

 

The weather was muggy and hot but also clear- there was no fog, no darkness that obstructed the view. That was why they were able to make out the opposing ship even from the rather great distance.

 

It had been drawing closer for the last half hour, slowly creeping closer like it was a beast stalking its prey. The flag hanging from the mast was torn and shredded into ribbons of color, so mutilated that nobody on Dave’s crew could tell what it had once been.

 

The ship itself though was something to behold.

 

It wasn’t _huge,_ but it was pretty large- especially compared to the merchant ship David was on. Elaborate painting and carvings decorated the clean wood, swirls of blues and golds against the brown of the wooden ship.

 

Suddenly, the other ship picked up speed, tearing through the water towards them. That moment was when David decided that the boarding of this ship had been a mistake.

 

* * *

 

 

Cannons groaned, people screeched and shouted as they engaged in combat, the thudding of boots hitting wood as people flung themselves from one ship to another across ropes. It was hell.

 

David barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he was sprinting back into his cabin, rolling up his maps and notes and books and stuffing them into a leather bag. The metallic clang of swords clashing could still be heard from outside, scaring him senseless.

 

He must have disassociated or blacked out or _something_ , because the next thing he realized was that he was below deck of a ship that was not his. David smelled like smoke, bits of ash smearing the white cloth of his shirt.

 

Facing the wall, David pulled out his journal and began writing.

 

* * *

 

 _A heavy wooden thump sounded from behind him, then an uneven footstep_. Again, the same sound persisted. Dave was sure that when he turned, he’d be greeted by the staggering figure of a ragged and battlescarred pirate, reeking of beer while swinging a cutlass and brandishing a peg leg as a reminder of past battles.

 

Instead, when he turned, he was greeted by a small and cheery looking cabin boy that smelled like ink and wax and _not_ beer, with a crutch wedged under arm and not a peg leg in sight.

 

The boy was peering at David through the metal bars of the cell, balancing a tray in the hand that wasn’t holding the crutch. David was trying not to look suspicious as he literally _sat_ on the journal he’d been trash talking these people in for the past two days now. That was how long he’d been in the cell, at least, so he didn’t have much else to do anyways.

 

The boy sat down on the floor a few inches from the bars of the cell and pushed a glass of water through the bars. He looked rather happy for someone working on this _forsaken pirate ship._

 

Davey took it, looking at the kid warily as he took a sip. Well, _kid_ probably wasn’t the most accurate term- he looked to be around Davey’s age, actually, just short and thinner.

 

When the other happily chirped out the next sentence, Davey almost jumped out of his skin due to the sudden interruption of what had previously been silence. “You want outta the cell, yeah? I can get ‘ya out, but ‘ya gotta stay on the ship and work.”


End file.
